


My beloved

by Links



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jealous John, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 10:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11400396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Links/pseuds/Links
Summary: "And it has backfired spectacularly – a slip of his tongue, which has raised Sherlock’s hackles and rendered the whole lot of Yarders tongue-tied and wide-eyed. The only advantage of this has been Anderson looking ill."Written for the Sherlock Challenge prompt: On the Tube.





	My beloved

**Author's Note:**

> (Can't you see the start of a Jealous!John kink? Because I certainly can see it...)

“Sherlock…”

The man seated next to him didn’t answer. Since they have boarded the Tube, Sherlock has lapsed into a sullen silence and showed no sign of coming out of his sulk. John sighed. He really couldn’t blame his friend – he would have done the same in his stead.

Or rather he would have exploded as soon as they have left the crime scene, ranting at Sherlock until being left out of breath.

In the end, he thought, I would have gone shopping at Tesco, still huffing and puffing, and I’d have forgotten this…incident the next day.

Or not.

He sagged a little further into his plastic seat. Fortunately for him, who didn’t like the crowded, cramped places since Afghanistan and Sherlock’s mood, there were only a few people besides them in the carriage – a group of teenagers obviously playing truant and an old couple bickering over who was going to prepare what for supper.

“You’re so stubborn, Harold!” “Pot kettle, Martha.”

John couldn’t help but smile at this scene. They were reminding him of Sherlock and him – at least when his friend wasn’t doing his best to impersonate Mister-Warning-I’ll-bite-you-if-you-come-closer.

He glanced at Sherlock’s closed-off face.

Time for a second attempt. He waited for the train’s next stop – “Notting Hill Gate. Please mind the gap” – before repeating in a more pleading tone “Sher…”

The rest was lost in his throat when the train moved off again with a rush. John found himself being jostled directly towards Sherlock. He caught hold of the backrest just in time to stop himself from colliding with his friend.

_Great. Just what I needed._

“Hum… Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay, John. I knew you didn’t mean anything by  _that_.”

If he hadn’t noticed the voice dripping with sarcasm, the bitter smirk on Sherlock’s lips would have clued him in.

“You’re a right wanker, sometimes.”

This time, he received the full how-dare-you-speak-to-me-like-that Sherlockian glare. Someone else wouldn’t have noticed it, but John was much too attuned to his friend’s expressions to ignore the glint of hurt and disappointment shining in the otherwise steely gaze boring into him. He suddenly regretted bringing this up in the Tube. The very idea of strangers being able to witness Sherlock’s vulnerability was enough for his protective instinct to raise its head.

And it wasn’t the best idea at this moment. He should have endured the trip in silence and waited until they were safely ensconced in Baker Street.

Damn his impatience.

“Sherlock, I’m…”

“I may be a right wanker as you so crudely put it,” Sherlock broke in, accentuating the sibilant sounds in his indignation, “but I’m not the one playing with other people’s feelings.”

He stared at John for a little while, eyes brimming with such intensity that, despite Sherlock’s accusation, John found himself completely mesmerized by this gaze. He has never found his flatmate, friend, partner in crime – or rather against it – so beautiful than right at this moment.

And wasn’t it the crux of the matter, he thought.

Sherlock let out a loud puff before abruptly turning his back on him. But John caught him mumbling “And they said I’m the one not paying attention to social cues…”

Time to change his tactics.

“Hey! Look here, Mister I-got-on-my-high-horse. I don’t know what you’re hinting at…”

He ignored Sherlock’s ironic snort.

“But I’m not playing games here. All I did was an honest mistake and I’m sorry it happened in the presence of Yarders…”

“Spare me. You’re only sorry you got caught. If I had not turned round just in time to catch you out calling me like this in front of Dimmock, you would have pretended it hasn’t happened.”

Checkmate. He couldn’t think of anything to reply. Without any doubt because Sherlock was right. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Martha and Harold toning it down their bickering and glancing at them curiously.

He should definitely have waited for their flat’s intimacy before provoking Sherlock into answering him. But Sherlock seemed to be a roll, his deep voice echoing in the whole carriage.

“ _An honest mistake_? Are you kidding me?”

“Sherlock…”

“After all the girlfriends you have brought round to our flat, trying to demonstrate in a very obvious way the heterosexuality you never had…”

“Sherlock!”

“And all the times I have heard your pathetic “I’m not gay!” when someone was making fun of our friendship…”

“Sherlock!”

“…  now you’re calling me “ _Your beloved_ ” in front of a DI I’ve just met, for the only reason you were jealous!”

Sherlock’s shout rendered him speechless. Which left him unfortunately perfectly able to hear Martha’s gasp or the teenagers tittering at his friend’s outburst. But Sherlock ignored them all. He once again turned round in his seat, his gaze holding John prisoner.

“Tell me I’m wrong, then,” he whispered, a hint of challenge in his voice.

John gaped at him, his mouth opening without any sound coming out of it.

“Bayswater station. Please mind the gap” echoed in the whole carriage.

“That’s what I thought,” Sherlock viciously muttered before jumping out of his seat and getting off the train. Of course that was the moment for John to find back his voice “I said _my beloved friend!”_

Sherlock didn’t seem to hear him, his tall figure soon melting in the afternoon crowd. John remained glued to the spot. How has this turned out so ugly so quickly? He felt his cheeks heat up and his heart jumping into triple time when he remembered Sherlock’s shouting “You were jealous!”.

Of course he has been jealous. Watching Dimmock smiling at Sherlock, jesting with him has made him grit his teeth while Lestrade was waiting for some witness to come over. And seeing Sherlock reply in kind, gazing at the DI in a way which suggested Dimmock hasn’t been yet considered as an utter idiot has been a very bitter icing on an already indigestible cake.

Blood has roared in John’s ears, screaming “Mine!” and he has impulsively reacted, walking to the DI with the urge to stress Sherlock’s importance as a friend.

And it has backfired spectacularly – a slip of his tongue, which has raised Sherlock’s hackles and rendered the whole lot of Yarders tongue-tied and wide-eyed. The only advantage of this has been Anderson looking ill.

A sharp kick in the shin snapped him out of his daze.

“Outch!”

Martha, his cane still raised in his direction, raised an eyebrow and looked at him belligerently.

“What are you waiting for, young man? Follow him!” she cried out, shooing away.

“These kids, honestly!” Harold grumbled in a tone which made John want to laugh.

He rushed instead out of the carriage, feeling as if Martha’s kick has freed him from his permanent uncertainty about Sherlock. About himself.

“Sherlock, wait!”

But he already was far ahead of John, who cursed these long legs of his.

He sprinted up the stairs, ignoring the pain in his right left, having only eyes for the tall man who was so effortlessly edging his way through the flow of commuters.

 

“Sherlock!” he called in vain. The man didn’t even hesitate, going on his way upstairs, certainly intending to disappear once he was in the street.

 

_Damn you Sherlock!_

 

John promised himself that once he has caught Mister-I-can’t-hear-you-right-now, he would have a few words to say to him.

 

When he finally came out from the tube station, he was panting for breath. He was getting his breath back when a familiar coat appeared in front of him.

 

“Already winded, John? May I recommend some exercise from now on? It’ll be easy, even for a former…”

John didn’t let the great prat finish. He took Sherlock’s large hands between his own – a simple gesture which was enough to silence his friend though – and looked up directly at him. Sherlock was frowning, having already overcome his surprise at John’s reaction.

Now, John thought, before I lost my courage again.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry. I’m sorry to have said what I said…”

Sherlock was doing his best to put on an unconcerned front, but John wasn’t fooled in the least.

“… and especially like that.”

He swallowed heavily, ignoring the curious glances of bystanders at them, their joined hands.

_In for a penny, in for a pound._

“I should have said it when we were alone in our flat, after I told you how much I… I appreciate you.”

He has chickened out at the last moment and judging from the look Sherlock was giving him, he has noticed it.

John’s heartbeat, already elevated after his running after Sherlock, got even higher when his friend took a step forward, closing the gap between them, and leaned in.

“How do you appreciate me, John?” he whispered in his ear. “As your beloved friend or…”

His lips brushed against John’s cheek.

“As your beloved?”

John flushed crimson while a dopey smile was creasing his lips.

He caught Sherlock’s gaze, seductive mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Let’s get to Baker Street and I’ll let you find out, then.”


End file.
